


To stoke a fire

by Builder



Series: Nat on Fire [16]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, F/F, Gen, Gun Violence, Minor Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov, Mission Fic, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, POV Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27292762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: “Really skewered yourself, huh?”  Maria shakes her head.“Not on purpose,” Nat mumbles.“Guess I have to wait for you till you’re stitched up.”Nat’s heart sinks.  It’s already nearing midnight.  She doesn’t feel well.  A forced date with Maria is the last thing she wants tonight.
Series: Nat on Fire [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/796122
Kudos: 18
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	To stoke a fire

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @builder051

For once, she gets to wear her proper uniform on her solo mission. Assassinating her target in his office building as he pulls an all-nighter doesn’t require temptation or disguise, only stealth. It’s a relief to Nat as she pulls on her black catsuit, perfectly tight around the waist, form-fitting around her thighs. 

It’s a new suit, slightly smaller than her last one. Maria grumbled about the cost when she put in the order, but Nat knew what she meant was concern for her health. Or maybe something else. 

Nat likes how she looks, legs a bit slimmer, tits less bodacious, but it’s clear that Maria doesn’t. Last time she pushed Nat into the broom closet outside her office, she’d sighed when she’d gotten her hand inside Nat’s bra. It’d been a push-up. 

But Nat has no time to perseverate now. She slips on her widow’s bites, packs her guns in their holsters, and heads out to the sleek black sports car waiting for her in the back parking lot. 

The target’s building is barely four blocks away, but she’d look ridiculous walking down the street, even under the cover of night. Nat pulls into the fire lane behind the small skyscraper and leaves the car running, challenging herself to be in and out before she gets caught.

With Fury in her ear and a heat tracker on her wrist, it takes Nat under a minute to locate the target in his office on the tenth floor. She takes the stairs, silently easing the heavy doors open and stepping quickly in her high rubber-soled boots. 

Once she reaches the proper location, Nat sinks to her knees so as not to be seen through the half windows that overtake the wall to the target’s office. He seems to have the whole floor to himself in one huge room full of expensive-looking cherry wood furniture. He himself, looking all the exhausted CFO, sits at his desk and taps away on a wireless keyboard, his suit jacket on the back of his chair and his tie undone and dangling over one shoulder. 

“You sure it’s him?” Nat whispers over her comm. “He looks like a sad dad.”

“He’s swindling half the company’s money over to HYDRA,” Fury replies. “And he’s single. No girlfriend. Not even a dog.”

“Ok.” Nat shrugs. She presses her comm to turn down the volume, then pulls out her gun.

She stands up silently, then flings herself forward through the office door. Nat drops into a forward roll and crouches in front of the desk, just out of the target’s line of sight.

“Who’s there?” the man calls, standing up and scanning the room.

Nat springs to her feet and holds her weapon out in front of her. There’s a slight tremor in her gloved hand, so she adds the other to stabilize her grip.

In that split second of hesitation, the target reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a knife. He throws himself forward, sliding on his stomach over the top of his desk and thrusts the blade into Nat’s stomach. At first it doesn’t penetrate the thick leather of her suit, but with his entire weight behind it, the knife forces its way through the protective layer and descents a few inches into her flesh.

Nat hisses through clenched teeth. The target’s head is practically against her chest, and she wastes no time in pressing her gun to it. She pulls the trigger, and a smattering of hair and blood suddenly decorate the wall before her.

The target falls on top of the desk, sending framed photos and an assortment of knick knacks tumbling to the floor. Nat leaps backward and continues to move toward the door. She’s fairly sure the building is otherwise empty, but it’s still good to make a quick getaway. Especially since when she glances down, a thin trail of blood is slowly dripping down her abdomen and threatening to bead up and hit the floor.

Nat opts for the elevator to take her back to the ground floor. The car is waiting right where she left it, and she slides into the driver’s seat with a grunt of effort. She grits her teeth in pain as she tries to fasten her seatbelt, then ultimately decides to drive without it. 

Once she’s back at SHIELD, Nat opens the car door and immediately doubles over. The urge to vomit from the pain is upon her, though she knows there’s nothing to expel. Food hasn’t exactly been her friend lately, especially before missions. Nat’s fairly sure the knife in her gut has missed everything vital, but she still expects to see blood pour from between her lips as a retch tears out of her. She spits out a mix of bile and foamy saliva, then takes a deep breath and forces herself out of the car on shaky legs.

Nat knows medical ought to be her first stop, but she heads to the locker room instead. She wants to at least wash out her mouth before she breathes sick into the face of the technician. 

Nat opens her locker and locates a bottle of Scope, then unzips the top of her suit, peels out her arms, and ties them under the band of her sports bra. Goosebumps rise on her slightly sweaty skin and the tremor in her limbs kicks up a notch or two. 

“What happened to you?” Maria steps out of the shadows and approaches Nat, hands on her hips. She’s partially out of uniform as well, wearing her navy blue trousers and black boots, but with a sheer white camisole instead of her long-sleeved battle dress top.

“Nothing I can’t take,” Nat mumbles, turning back toward her locker.

“C’mere,” Maria says, reaching for Nat’s shoulder.

Nat cringes. She’s covered in cold sweat. Her throat burns. The knife still embedded in her skin bumps slightly against the door of her locker, and a lightning bolt of pain shoots from behind Nat’s navel to the top of her head.

“Don’t shy away from me.” It’s meant to sound like sweet talk. But Nat knows it’s a command.

Nat grits her teeth in pain and displeasure. She knows there’s no getting away, not now. Not anymore. She should’ve gone to medical first.

Nat slowly turns, holding her hand loosely in front of the knife’s handle so as not to jostle it again.

“Really skewered yourself, huh?” Maria shakes her head. 

“Not on purpose,” Nat mumbles.

“Guess I have to wait for you till you’re stitched up.”

Nat’s heart sinks. It’s already nearing midnight. She doesn’t feel well. A forced date with Maria is the last thing she wants tonight.

“What did you…have in mind?” Nat stops to catch her breath.

“What’re you willing to give?”

“Goodnight kiss?” Nat says hopefully. Though the thought of pressing her mouth against the dregs of Maria’s artificially minty lipstick make her want to vomit all over again.

Maria sighs. Smirks. Shrugs one shoulder. “Rain check.”

Nat bites her lip until she tastes blood. She could report Maria for harassment. She could put a stop to this. Get her fired. But what would that do to the team? What would it do to Fury? She’s not sure she can bring herself to do it.

“Fine,” Nat mutters. She puts the mouthwash back and shuts her locker. “I’m going to medical.” 

“Want a chaperone?”

“I’m a big girl.” The truth is the knife wound fucking hurts. She’s tired, and she still feels sick. Nat doesn’t want Maria to see her wince.

“Tomorrow,” Maria says, sounding disappointed. “I’ll be in early if you need help changing your wound dressing.”

“Sure…” Nat knows she doesn’t have a choice. “I gotta get dressed, so…” She makes a vague motion toward herself.

Maria steps forward and takes Nat by the shoulders. She jams her lips against Nat’s, shoving her tongue into her mouth and hanging on longer than is necessary or comfortable.

“Goodnight,” Nat whispers when they finally separate. She feels sick, and she wants to get out of there as soon as possible. But she needs Maria to leave first.

“See you.” Maria grins. 

Once she’s gone, Nat feels tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. She stands there in the darkened locker room and counts to sixty, then turns and heads out herself. No sooner has she opened the door out to the hall, though, than she sees none other than Steve Rogers pacing quickly toward her.

He stops. Cocks his head. “What’s up?”

Her body reacts before her brain, and without thinking, Nat grasps the handle of the knife, yanks it from her stomach, and throws herself at Steve. He immediately wraps his arms around her. She begins to sob into his chest.


End file.
